Harry Potter and the Final War
by unolimbo
Summary: Harry's sixth year- new adventures now that everyone knows Voldemort is back - will Harry be able to live up to the Prophecy? Possibly HPCC, PG for safety.(redo of HP and the Innumerable Consequences)Chapter 2 redone (again, with new stuff added)
1. A New Beginning

This is for anyone who read Harry Potter and the Innumerable Consequences, or whatever the hell I called it. This is the same story. I was really unhappy with the way it was going and with all the important stuff I had forgotten, so I started it again. This chapter is completely new, and every chapter (as far as I know) will have lots added to it, so it is worth it to read it again, I guess.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my own, pitiful self.

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Harry Potter was not like other fifteen year old boys. For one thing, he was not really fifteen any more, he would be turning sixteen the next day; but there was another thing. Harry Potter was a wizard. And a very good one, at that.

Harry had lived with his horrible aunt and uncle since he was one. He had been attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry since he was eleven. But this summer was different from the last four. Harry's aunt Petunia was working him harder than she ever had before. He didn't even know how she found so much work for him to do; she always kept an orderly house, there couldn't be that much to do. But it seemed like she and Uncle Vernon wanted to make sure Harry never had time to himself. They had always been worried about Harry's friends coming to Privet Drive; especially after the Weasleys had come twice, and an entire crew of wizards had come the previous year- though the Dursleys hadn't been home; but now it was different. Mad-Eye Moody, a very frightening Auror and member of the Order of the Phoenix, had threatened Uncle Vernon only a month ago, and Harry ha been instructed to send post every three days so they would know he was safe. Uncle Vernon seemed to take this as a personal attack, and made sure Harry could not send more than those scheduled letters, and made sure he had no time to write any others.

"Harry Potter!" Uncle Vernon's voice boomed down the stairs. "Breakfast!"

Harry reached over and put on his glasses. His tiny, messy bedroom quickly came into focus. His snowy owl, Hedwig, hooted in her cage. Harry put his hand to his forehead for a moment, feeling the heat surge from his scar. He didn't know what the dream he was having now was about, but he couldn't ignore it. With a groan, Harry got out of bed and put on his a worn out sweatshirt that fit him like a sack, and held his too large jeans up with an old belt. He rolled his sleeves four times so he could use his hands before going downstairs.

"Come on, boy," Uncle Vernon said over his newspaper, "grapefruit. And don't try and sneak yourself the biggest quarter."

"Aren't quarters supposed to be the same size?" Harry asked innocently.

Uncle Vernon glared at him but didn't say anything as Harry picked up a knife and cut up a grapefruit. Harry sat down at the table as far away from his cousin Dudley as possible. This was exceedingly difficult, as even with a the dieting that Aunt Petunia insisted on when her little Dudders was home for the holidays, Dudley still weighed about the same amount as Harry's entire dormitory put together – after they ate a feast.

"Well, Dudley, what are you doing today?" Uncle Vernon asked, not actually listening for his son's answer.

"Going out for tea tonight." Dudley grunted.

"The Polkiss'?" Vernon asked.

Dudley nodded, looking at Harry's grapefruit quarter with his pudgy eyes. Harry sighed and passed it to him. Harry normally would have laughed at his uncle's gullibility, but it just wasn't funny any more.

Harry didn't find very much funny any more. In fact, he suspected it would be quite a while before he was actually happy. He had been conversing with his best friends, Ron and Hermione, all summer (against Uncle Vernon's wishes, of course), and with actual members of the Own, Lupin, Mad-Eye, and Tonks.

None of them could tell him anything. Anything that would be of any use to Harry was too delicate to be sent in owl post, and there wasn't much else to say.

Also without Uncle Vernon knowing, Harry received a subscription to the Daily Prophet. The newspaper was finally acknowledging the fact that Harry had indeed been correct and Voldemort had indeed returned. The Prophet often spoke of Harry now, nut not in the disparaging way it had the year before. The wizarding world believed him now, and it was a good thing. The Dementors, the guards of Azkaban, had left the Ministry, and many of the Death Eaters who had been imprisoned in Azkaban had been released, though Harry had assisted in the capture of about five of them in June.

Dumbledore had told Harry to go to Privet Drive and wait to be retrieved from the Order. As much as Harry wanted to believe Dumbledore, he had trouble with it. He couldn't believe that Voldemort couldn't get to him at Privet Drive. He couldn't bring himself to believe any of Dumbledore's promises. Dumbledore had always been right when he told Harry to do something, which was the only reason that Harry was still at Privet Drive; but Dumbledore had shown weakness to Harry. He had shown Harry his mistakes, and now Harry couldn't accept everything else he did.

_Dear Tonks, Lupin, Mad-Eye, and everyone else:_

_When am I coming?_

_Harry_

Harry had sent this letter many times. But every time, the answer was the same.

_Soon, I expect._

_I don't know Harry, we have to wait for Dumbledore._

_We should be seeing you soon, Harry!_

_Just sit tight and keep out of trouble, we'll be there for you soon enough._

Harry was sick of waiting. He had told them that, he had told Ron and Hermione in their letters (he deduced from what Hermione said that they too were at Grimmauld Place), and yet nothing happened.

Harry went walking that morning. It was a rare occasion that Aunt Petunia could find nothing for him to do, and Harry slipped into the drizzle outside before she could think of anything. He walked down Mangolia Crescent and turned onto Magnolia Drive. He went was just strolling down Wisteria Avenue when he saw someone.

A little old lady, her hair done up and kept under a rain bonnet, a heavy looking bag thrown over her shoulder as she hobbled down the street.

"Mrs. Figg!" Harry called out to her, running over to her.

She looked up. "Harry, what are you doing out?" She said sharply when he reached her.

"I went for a walk to get away from Aunt Petunia." Harry said. "Look, I was wondering if you knew anything…"

She cut him off. "You shouldn't be out and about! How are you supposed to know who's on guard? What if it's that lout Mundungus Fletcher and he's skived off to go do illegal dealings? How will you protect yourself then, eh?"

Harry sighed. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Figg, I won't do it again."

She nodded curtly. "Very well. Come on then, carry my bag and I will tell you what I can."

She swung the bag off her shoulder and into Harry, almost knocking the wind out of him. He could tell by the clattering it made that it, as always, was filled with cat food.

"Well," Mrs. Figg said, walking quickly, "I can't say I know very much, probably not much more than you."

"I doubt it." Harry muttered under his breath.

"No don't go getting sulky on me, I'm not a member of the Own, I'm a squib, and that means I'm not let to know very much!" She said, wagging her finger in his face. "Well, I know that Dumbledore has been working with the Ministry for a while, trying to work out all the details. This is a war, Harry, the Second War, and the Ministry is very behind. Their dilly-dallying around the facts has lost them precious time. They have lost the Dementors, and most likely the giants. There have been rumours that they have almost lost the goblins, but those have been proven as untrue."

Harry remembered the Quibbler that Luna Lovegood had been reading upside down that spoke of Fudge assassinating Goblins. Was that the rumour Mrs. Figg was speaking of?

"The Order has been recruiting, and having a right difficult time of it, too. They've managed a few more Aurors, a couple of other wizards as well. But it is difficult. The Order is a very secret thing, meaning that when people join, it takes a long time before they are actually allowed in headquarters, what with the chances that they are going to give information away, or that they just aren't up to the Order's standards."

Harry nodded. "Lupin said that it's important that all of the members of the Own be fully qualified wizards."

Mrs. Figg nodded. "Indeed. It's equally important that they are _good _at what they do." They walked up the front steps of her house. "Well, Harry, that's all I know." She put out her hand, and Harry returned her bag to her. "Oh, by the way, Harry, someone will be coming to retrieve you in a few days."

She closed her door in Harry's face.

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Harry couldn't sleep that night. The first time he fell asleep, he was woken by painful dreams. He saw Voldemort. He saw him pacing a room, lit only by a fire in a hearth. Wormtail was with him, and others. The circle of Death Eaters was surrounding him, as they had the night he had captured Harry. Empty spaces scattered the circle. Harry could see Voldemort talking, but could not hear what he said. A man stepped forward and bowed to the ground as Voldemort raised his wand.

Then Harry woke up.

He put on his glasses but kept his eyes pressed shut. His scar was burning white hot, and as soon as the pain receded in his forehead, he went to his desk and took out a piece of parchment and a quill.

He held his quill in his hand, inches from the paper, but the words did not come. With a sigh, he threw down the quill and took off his glasses and got back into bed.

He didn't sleep for the rest of the night. He knew he would have to tell Dumbledore about his dream when he saw him, but what if Mrs. Figg had been wrong? What if no one came for him?

Harry had no choice but to trust what he was told, as much as he didn't believe it, and he finally fell asleep minutes before his birthday.

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Well, there is chapter one. As I said before, this story is the same as Harry Potter and the Innumerable Consequences, which I deleted so I could redo it and make it better. The next chapter is what the first chapter was.

Enjoy, and please review!

-unolimbo


	2. The Suprise Visit

Rain pelted down on the roofs of the houses on Privet Drive. The drought of the year past was long over now, replaced with never ending rain and drizzle. The gardens on the street suffered again, now from too much water instead of too little. The rain was falling painfully on the head of a teenage boy who was standing in front of one of the houses on said Privet Drive. He wiped the rain from his glasses, leaving streaks of grime upon them.

"Bloody brilliant." He muttered. Harry Potter was leaning over a flower bed in front of number four, Privet Drive, pulling weeds out of the muddy ground, on his birthday. The voice of his loathsome Aunt Petunia, a skinny, horsefaced woman who never knew to mind her own business, carried through the half open window.

"Are you almost done out there? I have more chores for you before the MacPhersons get here, do hurry up!" She screeched.

Harry swore under his breath. "Yes, Aunt Petunia!" He said loudly. Finally, when there was not a weed that Harry could see left in the garden (albeit, he could not see very much as account of the grime and water running down his glasses) he stepped back through the kitchen door. Harry was used to work. He had always been worked hard by his family, but this summer had been the worst. Harry was waiting for the day that he got to leave Privet Drive. First he would be going to 12 Grimmauld Place, the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, but then he would go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for school, which was his favourite place in the world. He had many adventures over his five years there, and made close friends, and many enemies. Lord Voldemort, Harry's nemesis, had returned in Harry's fourth year – thirteen years after he attempted to kill Harry and the spell backfired, weakening him instead. But he had succeeded in killing both of Harry's parents, explaining again why Harry was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, dripping wet and muddy to boot.

"Goodness, you're filthy!" Petunia cried. "All over my clean floor! Take off your shoes, and quickly, up stairs and get dressed! I need you to vacuum the living room before tonight!"

Harry nodded and ran up the stairs. He stripped off his wet shirt and stood there for a moment. He could have sworn he heard a bang… a bang, just like the one he had heard almost exactly a year earlier, when Mundungus Fletcher had disapparated from Privet Drive when watching Harry. Harry stepped slowly to the window and peered out. He couldn't see much. Rain pelted his windows, blurring his view of the outside world. There was nothing there. Harry felt a slight prickle in his forehead – his scar. He put his hand to his forehead. Voldemort couldn't be here… it was impossible…

_Don't be ridiculous,_ Harry thought. No one has any reason to apparate here. _This time it really was just an engine backfiring._ Nevertheless, he put a clean shirt and a clean pair of jeans on and ventured downstairs warily.

"Let's go, boy, your aunt doesn't have all day!" Uncle Vernon screamed. He was a big man, with a large moustache and no neck, and his face often turned to spectacular shades of purple when he was angry. Luckily, it was not changing colour right now. Harry nodded to his uncle and walked into the kitchen where Petunia, dressed in a cocktail dress and an apron, was waiting.

"Here." She shoved a piece of bread and butter at him. "Then you will go and clean up that mess you made when you came in! You're very lucky that your cousin Dudley is so neat and I didn't have much to clean, or there would be nothing left of you!"

Harry smirked. Dudley was not neat. Dudley was a brute of a boy, wider than he was tall, vaguely resembling a large sow. He had even once had the tail. Dudley would spend all of his days in front of the television, rarely moving other than to get food or to go to the toilet. But somehow he still managed to make a mess of his own room, destroying his computers and televisions and electronic toys.

Harry used to be jealous of everything Dudley had, but it didn't bother him any more. He didn't even mind that his aunt and uncle had forgotten his birthday yet again. Oddly enough, this was the second time since Harry's Hogwarts career had begun that Uncle Vernon had a business client over for supper on Harry's birthday.

Vernon called everyone into the dining room, as he had the last time, and went over the routine. Dudley was to take Mr. and Mrs. MacPherson's coats from them with a polite smile, Petunia was to invite Mrs. MacPherson into the parlour for drinks and hors d'oeuvres while Vernon showed Mr. MacPherson his beautiful house.

Again, Harry had to duck under the table to stop himself from laughing at Dudley. "You, boy!" Vernon barked at him. "What will you be doing?"

"I will be in my room," Harry said, stifling a laugh, "making no noise and pretending I'm not there – just like last time."

Vernon narrowed his eyes at Harry. "Not one sound, boy. Don't think I haven't noticed the way you slip away every year. It won't happen this time. As much as we dislike having you here, we would rather have that than have you cavorting around with those- " He paused and glanced outside. "Magic weirdoes of yours." He whispered.

Harry nodded. "Of course not, Uncle Vernon." He paused.

Uncle Vernon then sent Harry upstairs as he went over the routine with Aunt Petunia and Dudley again. When Harry got upstairs, there was an owl waiting for him. "Well, hello there," Harry said, taking the letter off the owls leg and bringing out Hedwig's water bowl for it to drink out of.

The letter had the Hogwarts crest, and Harry opened it anxiously. His OWL results were inside of it. This could either make his day or ruin it…

_Dear Mr. Potter:_

_Congratulations on finishing your OWLs. Your results are enclosed. _

_The lifetime ban that was set upon you last year is no longer in effect._

_Sincerely,_

_Professor M. McGonagall_

_Deputy Head Mistress_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Harry pulled out the second piece of paper with his OWLs on it and read it quickly.

_Potions: Exceeds Expectations_

_Divination: Acceptable_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts: Outstanding_

_Charms: Outstanding_

_Transfiguration: Exceeds Expectations_

_History of Magic: Exceeds Expectations_

_Care of Magical Creatures: Outstanding_

_Astronomy: Exceeds Expectations_

_Herbology: Exceeds Expectations_

_Total OWLs: Nine_

Harry was a little shocked. Exceeds Expectations in Potions? That was his biggest surprise. Nine OWLs. He had earned them, he knew he had studied hard enough for them, but it was still a surprise.

From downstairs, Harry heard the doorbell ring. "That will be them." He heard Vernon say loudly. Harry was just reading over his book list when he heard something he was not expecting to hear. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?" Vernon asked loudly.

Harry leapt down the first set of stairs and stuck his head around the corner, then proceeded to almost fall down the rest of the stairs. Professor Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was standing in the front hallway, followed by Professor McGonagall, the deputy head mistress, and Harry's house mistress.

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Well, if that chapter seemed a little odd, it was because it was originally the first chapter. I changed it around a bit, but it still had most of the starter information about Harry and such, which I liked in this chapter better than the first.

Rowenhood: I think you were the one who wrote that incredibly apologetic review that you insisted was not a flame? I had such a good response for it too. Oh well. What I was going to say (though it was going to be much more long winded) was that this is one of my weaker stories, because it doesn't really have a plan, it's just all the stuff I wanted to write about that I didn't do in my other stories, because they were just there to make me happy (well, this one is too). And if that was you, than I will say: you don't have to apologize for criticism. That's the point of reviews! As long as it's constructive, it's all cool!

Please review!

-unolimbo


	3. A Bittersweet Return

"Get out of my house, I don't want people seeing you in here! Out!" Vernon yelled, his face quickly turning purple. Harry didn't move. This couldn't be good. Dumbledore had never been to the Dursley's house, and McGonagall certainly had not either. Yet there they were, looking quite out of place in the front hall, with Dudley cowering behind his mother, who had gone completely white, just watching. Harry assumed they were here for the Order, but why had Dumbledore himself come?

Dumbledore looked at Uncle Vernon. "I am looking for Harry Potter, please." He said.

Vernon shook his head angrily. "No one here by that name! Sorry! Too bad to see you go!" He tried to usher them out the door, but to no avail. Aunt Petunia, who was standing beside her husband, Dudley cowering behind her, took a step back.

Dumbledore looked at her. "Good evening, Petunia." She glared at him fearfully and did not answer.

"I said there is no one here! I don't know how you know my wife, but I assure you-"

"Please, Mr. Dursley, I would like to speak to Mr. Potter." Dumbledore looked sternly over Vernon.

"He, uh, can't come down right now. Very sick." Vernon said quickly. "Caught a death of a cold cavorting out in the rain today."

Professor McGonagall stepped forward. "Well, let me see him then. I'm no Madame Pomfrey, but I'm sure I can help him."

Vernon looked from side to side. "No!" He said forcibly. "I forbid it!"

Dumbledore took of his small spectacles slowly. Vernon took a step back nervously, knowing that adult wizards could indeed use magic all the time. Dumbledore just wiped the rain off of his glasses and put them back on. "Very well." He said. "We shall be going then." He and McGonagall turned and walked towards the door.

"Wait!" Harry jumped down the stairs. "Professor, wait!"

Dumbledore turned quickly, a sparkle in his eye. "Harry, how wonderful to see you." He said.

Harry tried to come down the stairs, but Uncle Vernon blocked his path. "You get back into your room right now, boy, or you will be in there for longer than you can possibly imagine!"

Harry ducked under one of Uncle Vernon's beefy arms and dodged his blows, ending up in front of Dumbledore and McGonagall. McGonagall put a hand to her mouth to stop herself from laughing quietly, then quickly put it down, her mouth again a thin line.

"Harry, how delightful to see you." Dumbledore said with a smile. "I am sorry to come at no notice, but I must ask." His eyes twinkled again. "Would you like to come back to school early this year? We thought it might be right for you to come back with us."

Harry's eyes widened. Go back to Hogwarts a month early? He would love that! That would be amazing! Perfect!

"Absolutely not!" Vernon cried. "He stays here! That is final!"

Dumbledore looked down on Uncle Vernon. "Mr. Dursley, I believe that this is Harry's decision."

Ten minutes later, Harry had his trunk and Hedwig's cage in the front hall. Dumbledore held in his hand a glass from the kitchen. He touched his wand to the glass, and it glowed blue for a second. He handed it to Harry. He then turned to Vernon. "Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Dursley. Goodbye." He and Professor McGonagall disapparated as Harry felt a tug somewhere behind his navel, and the world around him began to spin rapidly, until it changed into a completely different place.

But he was not at Hogwarts. He was in a small bedroom in a house somewhere. He knew the bedroom. He was in his bedroom in number twelve, Grimmauld Place. He opened the door. He could hear talking down the dark staircase. He silently stepped out of the room and the door closed with a click.

"Harry!" He spun around. Hermione and Ron were coming up the stairs. They ran noisily up the stairs to him. "We were wondering when you'd get here. Dumbledore and McGonagall were here almost an hour ago, and they just got back. They said you would turn up soon, we thought they meant that you were flying or something!" Ron said, clapping Harry on the back.

Hermione gave him a hug. "Welcome back, Harry! Happy Birthday!" She said.

Harry stared at them, a little stunned. He had been told he was going to school, and he had not been told that his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, would be there. "What's going on?" Harry demanded.

Hermione shrugged. "What does it matter, Harry? They wanted us to come back here to help out, I guess. And to keep you safe, of course."

"But I don't want to be here!" It was true. All summer, he had asked to come, but now that he was here, it was all wrong. Everything in Grimmauld Place reminded Harry of Sirius, his godfather, whom had been killed just over a month ago by a Death Eater, one of Lord Voldemort's minions. He had been excited to go to school, but he wasn't even sure if he'd rather be here than at Privet Drive.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Harry." She sighed. "We know it's difficult, Harry, but-"

"We also know that you're better off here." Ron finished Hermione's sentence for her.

Harry grinned. "You've been practicing that!"

"We have not!"

"Oh, Ron, yes we have, don't try and fake it."

Harry laughed. Maybe it wouldn't be so terrible being at Grimmauld Place. Maybe this was where he wanted to be.

Harry ventured downstairs to find out what was going on. "I should've noticed something when they apparated instead of touching the portkey." He muttered. Again, he had a sudden thought that maybe he didn't want to be there.

Ron shrugged. "Doesn't matter, mate."

There was a crowd in the dining room when Harry got there. Lupin, Tonks, Mundungus, Moody, and all the Weasley clan were all clearing dishes from the dining room table.

"Harry! Wonderful to see you! McGonagall and Dumbledore said you'd be here any minute!" Lupin said.

Mrs. Weasley bustled over and hugged Harry, telling him how wonderful it was to see him home safely at last.

Harry stood still until Mrs. Weasley stepped back from him. "Will someone please tell me what is going on?" Harry demanded.

Everyone looked at him, flabbergasted. "Harry, dear, we thought you would like being here…" Mrs. Weasley started.

Lupin patted her on the arm and stepped forward. "Harry, we know how much you dislike being at your aunt and uncle's, so we thought this was the best…"

Harry cut him off. "They told me I was going back to school!"

"That was just because they can't say anything about Grimmauld Place, Harry." Moody said. "We can't be too careful, you know."

Harry shook his head. "You don't get it. I don't want to be here, I never want to be here."

He turned on his heel and went back upstairs. He did not go to his own room, though – he went to Sirius' room, or what had been Sirius' room when he had been alive. Harry paced around the small room. A small bed sat on one side, a double bed with a simple duvet on top. A dresser with, Harry found when he opened the top drawer, few clothes in it. Two ratty black robes and a few pairs of trousers were all that sat in them. A few paintings on the walls, that watched Harry as he paced around the room. A dead lantern sat on the bedside table, with a book, the Wizards History of Music, beside it. A fine layer of dust sat over everything, as if no one had set foot in the room since Sirius' death. Harry spun on the spot, staring at everything.

He walked over to the dresser and pushed against it with all his might. It fell over with a loud thud, a leg breaking off and splintering onto the floor. Dust flew into the air, making Harry cough. He drew open the dark curtains so he could see better, throwing more dust into the air. The dresser lay on the floor like a bug, its legs in the air, its innards pushed out slightly. Harry pulled out one of the drawers and hurled it across the room, the wood dented the wall and the clothes fell out of the drawer. He picked up the second drawer and hit it against the wall splintering the wood. He hit it over and over again until it fell apart completely, when he moved on.

He opened the book to the dogearred page. It was inane drivel about the history of music, something Harry was sure Sirius could not enjoy. He ripped out pages and hurled the book cover against the dresser, where it fell quietly to the ground.

"Well, that was rude!" One of the paintings said.

"Yes, this isn't even his room!"

Harry winced as the paintings spoke. He pulled one of them off the wall and, as the subject shrieked and ran out of the canvas, pushed it on top of the over turned dresser, stabbing one of the wooden legs into it.

He threw things around for a few more minutes until the air was thick with dust and the cries of the paintings, and Harry could see what he had done.

Probably the only part of Sirius that was left was now gone. The dresser was destroyed, the painting stabbed, the lantern broken and the book ripped, the duvet torn apart, feathers floating around the room with the dust.

Chaos surrounded him. Harry was sitting in his own destruction, and now he could not even come in and try to remember Sirius sitting on that bed, reading that book by the light of that lantern.

Coughing, Harry stood up and stepped out of the room. Ron and Hermione were leaning against the opposite wall.

Harry sighed. "I'm sorry, guys." He said. "It's just, I thought I'd want to be here. And now that I'm here, it's just not right. "

Ron nodded. "That's alright. You up for a game of chess?"

Harry grinned. Wizards chess, a game where the pieces played full contact, was one of the few things that Ron always beat Harry at. "Sounds like fun." Harry said, doing his best to forget about everything on his mind.

After a long game of chess, Harry was restless. He declined a second game and walked out of the room. As he walked down the hallway, he noticed that the door to Sirius' room was open. He took a step closer and noticed something odd: it was clean. The dresser was intact, the clothes, Harry assumed, folded up neatly inside. The bed was made, and though the pictures were back on the wall, they still had rips in them, and the residents of them were cluttered in a few of the less ruined paintings. They scowled at Harry when he stepped in.

"Sorry." He mumbled quietly, stepping out again. He didn't want to get yelled at by paintings. As he closed the door to the room, he could hear the paintings voicing their complaints loudly and vulgarly.

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Goddess Usagi: that is a good point. I only changed a few sentences, I can tell you what they are if you want. Basically, I just added in a bit of Harry trying to decide if he wanted to be back at Grimmauld Place or not. About two sentences. And I changed one of the exchanges between Harry and Ron; it was a bit weak.

Review, please!

-unolimbo


	4. Untitled

"Morning, Harry." Lupin said with a weak smile.

Harry nodded. "Sorry about that." He said, slouching into one of the chairs.

Lupin shrugged it off. "Don't worry, Harry. Mrs. Weasley helped me clean it up. It only took a few minutes. Besides, Sirius wanted us to get rid of all that stuff anyway. We repaired the paintings just in case we needed them in the future."

Harry didn't know why everyone was accepting his answers so easily, but he let it pass. He did not want to fight them any more than he needed to. "Why am I here?" He asked.

Lupin sighed. "I don't know, Harry." He said. "Dumbledore said it was important for you to come. Maybe you should ask him yourself. He's in the dining room in a meeting. I thought I'd wait for you all to come downstairs."

Harry waited at the door of the dining room. Mrs. Weasley had not put a blocking charm on the door, and Harry could hear people speaking on the other side, though he did not know what they were saying. He sat back down at the table. Restless, he waited. Finally, the door opened and Dumbledore emerged.

"Harry," he said, "What can I do for you?"

"I need to speak to you, professor." Harry said. Dumbledore's old eyes looked over him before he turned and walked back into the dining room, beckoning for Harry to follow. Harry followed him, and the door clicked closed behind him.

"I know what you want," Dumbledore said before Harry could speak. He paced along one side of the table. "Voldemort is gaining power. He is going to come for you, Harry. We don't know when, or what he will try and do to you, but we know that he will come. And we must be ready. You will stay here for the time being. Voldemort cannot reach you here, nor can he reach you at Hogwarts. But I cannot be here all summer to protect you. Thus, you must stay here.

"You are not to leave this house for any reason, until it is time for you to go to school. We shall go over how this school plan will work when we arrive there on September first. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger are welcome to stay here with you, though they are free to leave at any time."

Harry frowned. "So it's like I'm Sirius now? I'm forced to stay in this house for the rest of my life?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Harry, you know what the prophecy is. Either he will die, or you will. We cannot risk you, for your own sake, and for the sake of the world around you."

Harry sat down in one of the chairs and pressed his forehead against the cool table. For fifteen years, Voldemort had been trying to kill him, and now, he could. He had the strength, he had the power, and now, he was going to do it. Harry had been protected from him for such a long time that he had never realized how much his life was in danger until now.

He had never thought it important before. He had always wanted to stop Voldemort from killing him, but only so that he could not gain power. But now, now it was sinking in that Voldemort meant that Harry would _die_. "I'm going to die." He said.

Dumbledore nodded. "At some point, yes. When your time comes, you shall pass, just like every other soul on this green earth."

Harry shook his head. "Professor, he's going to kill me. Just like he did Sirius."

Dumbledore sighed deeply again as Harry stood up, his eyes stinging with tears. He stood up quickly and ran back up stairs, all the way to the attic where Buckbeak rested.

He bowed quickly, then sat down beside the hippogriff. He pat Buckbeak on the shoulder as the creature nuzzled his shoulder. Harry let himself cry.

A few moments later, Hermione and Ron came into the room. "Harry?" Hermione asked softly. "What happened?"

Harry shook his head. "I can't just hide. Sirius hid, and Voldemort got to him. My mum and dad hid, and Voldemort got to them! Now they want me to hide, to wait for him to find me. To wait for him to kill me!"

"When did your scar last hurt, Harry?" Hermione said sharply. "When did you last _tell_ Dumbledore about it? Hasn't he always been able to help you in the past?"

Harry sighed. "He hasn't, Hermione. I don't know if I told you this already, but last year he told me himself how he was weak and how he was wrong not to tell me about the prophecy when I was younger. He told me he had let me down."

Hermione, sitting down beside him, drew her knees up and rested her chin on them. Ron sat down beside her, leaning his head back against the wall. "Dumbledore won't let anything happen to you this time, Harry."

Harry shook his head. "He can't protect me any more. He knows it. Now he can just hope that he'll be able to help me when Voldemort finally decides to come."

They sat in silence, the three friends, and Harry knew they would stand with him until the very end.

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Well, that's another chapter that I barely changed at all. Oh well. A few sentences here and there, but if you've already read it, there's not much point reading it again… except that it makes me feel special. You know.

Lady of Masbolle: that's cool, dude, no worries!

FSI: I'm glad you like it! I'm sorry it is taking so long, but I have been very busy…

"One thing kids like is to be tricked. For instance, I was going to take my little nephew to DisneyLand, but instead I drove him to an old burned-out warehouse. "Oh, no," I said, "DisneyLand burned down." He cried and cried, but I think that deep down he thought it was a pretty good joke. I started to drive over to the real DisneyLand, but it was getting pretty late."

-unolimbo


	5. A Long Summer

The summer passed without consequence. Harry, still angry to be cooped up at Grimmauld Place, was gloomy and rude to everyone who passed through. He didn't want to be in a cramped place with a dozen people visiting every day. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted to spend time by himself, without anyone asking him if he was alright. Sometimes he would take out his father's old invisibility cloak and stand in front of the front door, trying to stop himself from just opening the door and running into the warm sunlight. He would then walk silently back up the stairs and sit down in Sirius' room, staring out the window. The sky was always grey and dark above him.

He tried to tell himself every day that he would beat Voldemort. He studied books and spoke to wizards around the house, collecting spells that he would teach himself when he got back to Hogwarts and was allowed to do magic. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not shake the image in his head of Voldemort killing him. He could not help but believe that there was nothing left. His scar prickled almost daily, though it had stopped for a time. Voldemort was steadily gaining power. But what could Harry do?

He had this image in his head of Voldemort killing him, he had his scar burning in his skull telling him how powerful Voldemort was, he had people around him constantly telling him he could not even step outside for fear of Voldemort. How was Harry supposed to defeat him?

Hermione and Ron were sick of him by the time they were ready to go back to school. They did not say it, but Harry knew it was true. They often did not search for him when he was hidden under his cloak, and they did leave the house willingly, though only once, to Diagon Alley to buy their school things, and they spent an entire day there.

Harry knew they were glad that they had to sit in the prefect car.

Harry sat in an empty car, leaning against the window, his arms crossed across his chest. The station was the first public place Harry had been since he left the Dursleys. He hadn't even gotten to go outside to get there. He, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny had been given a portkey to get them to the station. Now that the Ministry believed that Voldemort was back (though they didn't quite admit it straight out to the public) they could use portkeys and floo powder with less risk; though they still preferred safer modes of transportation.

Mr. Weasley had not left Harry's side until he was on the train. Now, as Harry sat in the corner of an empty compartment of the train, thoughts were flowing through his head as he looked out the opposite window, past the hallway. He thought about death. How his father had died. How his mother had died. How Sirius had died. How he, too, would soon die. He didn't let any of the tears that were all too common now fall, just in case Malfoy or anyone else came by.

No one came. Malfoy did, stopping only to taunt Harry for being alone, but left when Harry threatened to do worse than he and his friends had done to Malfoy the year before.

Harry realized then that he was surprised that the Order had not insisted on a guard even on the train. They had had one watching Harry the entire year previously, and Harry no longer trusted their belief that he was safe at Hogwarts.

They arrived at the school after dark, as they always did. Ron and Hermione caught up with him finally as he climbed into a carriage.

"Evening, Harry!" Ron said, grinning. Harry smiled back. The three friends joked on the short ride to the castle as if they had been doing it all day. Harry was glad he was still capable of enjoying himself.

They had barely sat down at the Gryffindor table when Professor McGonagall strode in, followed by a stream of first years. Harry looked at how frightened they looked, just worrying about what house they would be in. _It doesn't matter_, Harry thought. _It won't matter any more, after Voldemort comes back._ He wondered why he was even there. School wasn't going to help him. He had no chance.

The entire hall went quiet as she placed the Sorting Hat on the stool. It sang a song of sorrow and regret for the actions of wizards in recent years. Harry understood what it was saying, and listened attentively.

_This year won't pass without event,_

_Evil must still be sent_

_The world must be protected_

_Before evil has been perfected_

_Only after it is defeated_

_Shall Hogwarts be completed_

_Be wary of all, but do not fear_

_This shall be an amazing year._

Harry repeated the last lines of the song. He understood. He was being ridiculous. He had spent his entire summer grieving for himself, convinced that he was going to die a horrible death before he graduated. But maybe he wasn't. Maybe he could survive it, if only he tried. Maybe now, now that he was out of hiding, into the world like he was supposed to be – he could fight back.

Maybe he wouldn't die.

Besides, what good would he be if he didn't at least try? If he didn't enjoy life first? He vowed to himself he would not think about Voldemort all the time – he knew that he was being silly; he would never stop thinking about Voldemort, he would just not _worry_ about him as much.

As Professor McGonagall stepped up with the list of names, no one clapped for the hat. It's words were as haunting as they were the year before, and while they may not have said as much to the other students, they made all the difference to Harry.

Dumbledore stood up after all of the first years had been sorted. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. These past years have been difficult for the wizarding world, and I am sure that the years to come will be equally difficult. We cannot afford to feud within our walls. The houses must unite, and the students must work together. Any students caught fighting will be given detention, no questions asked." He glanced at Harry quickly, then began to speak again. Harry quickly understood what he was going to say, and instantly thought, _no_. _He can't, I-_ but Dumbledore continued. "This especially includes certain students who must seriously concentrate on their studies, _as you all do anyway_. You know who I am talking about, and I ask you to leave him alone. Of course, you would leave him alone anyway, wouldn't you."

A few heads turned towards Harry and he heard snickers from the Slytherin table. Harry closed his eyes and groaned. That would not be helpful. Didn't Dumbledore know better than that? He may not have named Harry personally, but everyone knew what Harry had done the year before; what he had said. No one was soon to forget any of that year.

"The Forbidden Forest is off limits to all students, as it has always been. You all know the rules. Now fill your bellies with the wonderful food before you!"

The plates filled with food, and everyone quickly forgot about everything Dumbledore had said. Hermione and Ron looked at Harry. "What was that?" Ron asked. "Why did he do that?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry needs to concentrate on his studies, Ron. He can't be worrying about other students bothering him." She sighed. "That seems sort of silly to me. If he tells the students not to bother Harry, they will bother him more than ever before."

Harry nodded. "He knows that." He said. "I didn't notice it before. He wants me to have to work. If it comes easy to me, then I'm going to end up not trying. He wants my life to be difficult."

"Why?"

Harry shook his head. He wanted to tell them everything that Dumbledore had told him, but he hadn't been able to bear it since he had learned it. He had told them briefly, but had not gone into detail. He knew if he told them now he would probably start crying again, and he certainly did not want that to happen in the middle of the Great Hall. "Later." He said.

He picked at his food quietly while Ron and Hermione talked with all of their other friends whom they had not seen since school ended in June. Harry greeted everyone and joined in the conversations a bit, but mostly stayed to himself.

Harry excused himself from the table, and, though Hermione insisted that she and Ron join him, proceeded up to the Gryffindor common room by himself. He climbed the spiral staircase to the boys dormitory and collapsed on his bed. He had never had such a horrible first day of school, not even when he and Ron had almost been expelled in their second year. Now that he was upstairs, his stomach was growling. He had spent the day alone, and alone he would stay. His classmates were scared of him again, for no reason, as always, and he was not ready to face the world.

He knew Ron and Hermione would face it with him, but he still couldn't do it. He knew he was pushing himself away from them. He knew that they would never give up on him, but he wanted them to forget about him. When he faced Voldemort, he would face him alone.

If he couldn't face the world alone, what good was he?

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Ok, this chapter wasn't terribly long… but I stretched a page in my notebook into 1300 words. I think that is pretty good!

Well, there are no reviews, because I just updated five minutes ago. Oh well!

"If you ever fall off the Sears Tower, just go real limp, because maybe you'll look like a dummy and people will try to catch you because, hey, free dummy."

-unolimbo


	6. Back in Action

The next morning at breakfast, Harry got an owl. It was a note from Dumbledore.

_Share this with no one._

_Acid lolly._

Harry folded up the slip of paper and put it in his pocket. He smiled and filled his plate with food.

"Finally!" Hermione said, looking over at him.

Harry looked up. "What?" He said, his mouth full.

Hermione grinned. "You're eating." She pointed at his plate. "We were beginning to worry."

"Hermione," Ron said, "we weren't beginning to worry. You already were worried."

Harry shrugged. "I was hungry."

Ron clapped him on the back. "Good to have you back, mate."

Harry studied more than he ever had before. He wasn't ready to fight Voldemort, but he would be. He knew he would. He began his Occlumency lessons with Snape again. He did not want to; in fact, he dreaded it; but Harry knew it was necessary. The year before he had not practiced it because he thought it was doing more harm than good. If he had listened to Dumbledore and practiced, Sirius would still be alive.

So Harry studied. Every week, he met Snape in the Potions dungeon, under the alias that he was taking remedial Potions lessons, the same as the year before, and pushed himself through his lesson. They were terrible. Harry found himself in excruciating pain on an weekly basis, but he got better. Voldemort was not evading Harry's dreams, but if he had been, Harry would have been able to stop him. His scar prickled less often, and after a few months of the training, he realized he did not feel Voldemort's 'mood swings' anymore.

There was no new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts that year. No soul would touch the position. Dumbledore taught it as best he could, teaching the older students, and the younger students whenever he found time, but he was very busy, what with the school, his position in the Wizengamot and in the Ministry, and with the Order. Other teachers helped him out when they did not have classes; Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, Professor Flitwick.

Harry did all his homework. He worked with Hermione in the library every day, and Ron even joined them most of the time. Harry worked the most on his Defence Against the Dark Arts. He practiced with Dumbledore himself every day, perfecting his spells, his deflections, his charms. Anything that would help him against Voldemort.

He, Hermione, and Ron discussed beginning the D.A. again, but decided against, it, knowing that Dumbledore would give them a proper education in Defence Against the Dark Arts without taking up their spare time.

Harry wasn't allowed out of the Gryffindor common room alone, nor was he allowed out after dark without a teacher. This meant that he got a lot more studying done – he couldn't spend his days wandering around, or spend his evenings doing things like visiting friends (not that Harry had any outside of Gryffindor other than Hagrid) or going out after dark on any of his adventures (not that much of that interested him anymore).

The annual early Quiddich practices began. The only problem was, some of their best players had graduated: Alicia, Angelina, Fred, and George were all gone - Harry, Ron, Ginny, Katie, Kirk, and Sloper were left. Of course, they were eager to get rid of Kirke and Sloper, who had only been put into action when over half of the Gryffindor team had been kicked off. While Harry was glad to have something to think of other than school work, he worried that the team wouldn't be able to find three new strong players as they couldn't do it the year before – though he was glad not to have to think about a new captain. Katie got the job.

Worried or not, Harry was glad to be in the air for practice. It had been such a long time since Harry had played, since Umbridge hadn't let him play the year before. He did a few barrel rolls in the air before settling down and practicing the drills that Wood had set out for him what felt like so long ago. Katie wasn't thinking about him that practice, trying to get Kirke and Sloper to actually hit the bludgers with their bats, instead of the air around the bludgers. Ginny did indeed become a Chaser, and a damn fine one at that; she did brilliantly in practice, giving Harry and Katie hope that maybe there was something left in the Gryffindor team.

Tired and sweaty, Harry dragged his feet back to his dormitory. It was dark outside as he trudged up the dew-damp hill towards the castle. His muscles groaned in protest to his solitary walk. Everyone else had left already, but Harry had stayed in the hot showers for a long time, thinking and trying to give his aching muscles some relief.

Suddenly, as he walked up the hill, a hand clapped him on the shoulder. Harry jumped and reached into his cloak for his wand, turning to face his attacker. His heart raced, and his seeker eyes searched the air around him.

"Potter," Snape sneered at Harry, tightening his grip on Harry's shoulder. "What are you doing out and about? It's long past your curfew."

Harry looked up at him. "I was at Quiddich practice." Snape sneered at him as Harry wormed out of the professor's grip on his shoulder. "I was on my way back to the dormitory." He said. "Thank you for your concern."

Before Snape could say anything more, Harry moved away from him and walked up towards the castle before Snape could follow. He put his hand to his heart, which was still beating violently in his chest.

-----

"Today we are learning about Patronus charms. They are extremely powerful, and extremely difficult." Professor Dumbledore stood at the front of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, speaking to the sixth year students. He walked from one side of the room to the other, pacing back and forth. He placed his hands together as his eyes wandered around the classroom. "Who can tell me what a Patronus charm is?"

Hermione's hand shot up in the air – but it was not alone. Over half the class raised their hands, all of the Gryffindors, and even a few Slytherins. Dumbledore's eyes came to rest on Harry. He paused for a second, a flicker of a smile in his eyes, then continued on to Hermione. "Miss Granger?" He said.

Dumbledore knew that Harry had taught all of his classmates the charm. He knew that a few of them had summoned faint outlines of animals, but that most had only found silvery wisps. He knew that Harry had a Patronus unlike any other, stronger, clearer, more powerful than one that almost anyone could create.

"A Patronus is a charm created to fend off Dementors. It takes the form of an animal and uses that animal's skills to fend off the Dementor. It is extremely difficult to conjure, but it's power is equally great; one Patronus is capable of fending off dozens, maybe hundreds of Dementors, if the conjuror is strong enough." Hermione spoke clearly and loudly, confident and proud of the fact that she had a faint image of an animal when she attempted the charm.

Dumbledore nodded, smiling slightly. "Five points for Gryffindor."

A few people cheered quietly, and Harry saw Malfoy in the back corner, scowling. Ron grinned at Hermione, who looked away from him.

"You may be wondering why we are practicing a charm in this class, and not in Charms. I shall tell you why. The Patronus charm was created in the 1200's…" Harry found himself drifting off as Dumbledore spoke. _He knew all of this_, he thought. He would rather be learning something new and important. Not that the Patronus wasn't important; Harry would not be alive if it weren't for his Patronus. But time was running short. It was already almost Christmas, and Harry needed to finish the year having learned new and helpful skills, things that would help him in the fight against Voldemort.

"And thus, we come to today. Now, I feel my own Patronus is not particularly skilful, and I should like to show you all a very good one. Mr. Potter, if you would?"

Harry looked up quickly, shooting out of his own thoughts. "Me, Professor?"

"Him, Professor?" Malfoy spat.

Dumbledore nodded, waving his hand to the empty space beside him. "If you please, Mr. Potter."

Harry slowly stood up and walked to the front of the room to the empty space that Dumbledore had gestured to.

"Well, Mr. Potter, you may begin."

"Er-" Harry paused, glancing around the room of apprehensive faces. "Do you just want me to do it?" He asked.

Dumbledore smiled, a twinkle in his eye. "Whatever you deem necessary, Mr. Potter."

Harry moved his wand around in his hand and lifted it. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" He cried, and a great silver light flew from the end of his wand. The class blinked at the bright light, but soon many of them were risking being blinded to see the stag cantering around the classroom.

It threw it's head back and disappeared as it ran through Harry. He didn't move, but he heard gasps from some of the girls, thinking it was going to run him over. He couldn't help but grin as Dumbledore awarded him ten points and sent him back to his seat.

"Now, I am aware that a few of you have attempted a Patronus charm. Would anyone care to share their skills with us?"

There was a slight murmur around the classroom – apparently, not everyone knew that Dumbledore was completely and utterly aware of the goings on at the D.A. in Harry's fifth year – none of the Slytherins even knew that the D.A. had done anything that advanced – in fact, Harry wasn't sure if they even knew what it truly was.

Dumbledore smiled broadly, looking around the room. "Let's see… Miss Granger?"

Hermione stood up nervously, and went to the front of the room where Harry had been.

"Expecto Patronum!" She cried, not nearly as forcefully as Harry had. She had never truly needed a Patronus charm, and thus did not understand what power it really took to perform one.

A faint silver light emerged from Hermione's wand, but dissolved quickly.

Dumbledore clapped. "Wonderful, Miss Granger. Now, before we continue with our presentations," he said slowly, "I assume I should teach you the actual spell, should I not?" He clapped his hands together. "Well! We shall begin with this: think of a happy thought. A truly happy thought. If I were to pick a thought, I would pick myself sitting in front of the fire in my office with a good book and a warm pair of socks. Now think."

The class closed their eyes and thought. Harry glanced around at their faces, and he envied how quickly many of them came up with a happy thought. Harry had needed to search through everything he had in his brain, search through his emotions and his subconscious.

Moments later, Dumbledore was speaking again. "Now, all you need to do is point your wand, think your happy thought, and say 'Expecto Patronum.'" He said, looking sternly at the class. "But it is more than just a happy thought. It is an urge. A need. Just pointing your wand and saying the words will not do anything. If you do not truly feel a need for this charm, it will not work to it's utmost potential."

He then directed the class to stand, herding them all to the back of the classroom. He then waved his wand, and all of the desks pushed to one side of the room. "There we are. Now, spread out. You need not worry about hitting someone else with your charm; it won't hurt them one bit. You just need space to perform. Are we ready?"

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore." The class chorused, their training from Professor Umbridge the year before still engrained in their minds, no matter how much they didn't want it to be.

Dumbledore smiled again. "Very well. You may begin."

Staggered and weak words echoed through the classroom. Harry stood at the side of the classroom with Ron and Hermione, helping them with their charms.

It was a fun class, seeing who could create a faint light with their wands, who could even get the faint outline of an animal, and who could do nothing.

"Very good, Miss Patil!" Dumbledore said, walking around the room. "Mr. Thomas, it's Expec-_to_, not Expec-_tro_." He continued on to the dark rear corner of the classroom. "Well, Mr. Malfoy, let's see how you've done so far."

Malfoy smirked at Dumbledore. "Of course, Professor." He lifted his wand. "Expecto Patronum!" Nothing happened. Harry just barely stopped himself from snorting with laughter.

"Keep trying, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said kindly, "Mr. Crabbe, Goyle?"

They both lifted their wands dumbly and uttered the words. Nothing happened. Pansy Parkinson giggled, but quickly stopped, stepping out of Dumbledore's path before heading back to Malfoy and his friends.

Ron frowned. "None of them care about this, those great lunkheads. They don't have anything to worry about, it's their side Dumbledore's worried about the Dementors joining."

Hermione sighed. "Just leave them be, Ron. They will fail the class, and you'll pass with flying colours."

Ron's ears turned red as he attempted the charm again.

Harry walked out of class happy as he thought he could be. He had done no work all class, but was still quite far ahead of his classmates, a bright October sun shone over the grounds, and they had a break.

"'Oy, you lot haven't been to see me lately!" A booming voice came from behind them.

Harry turned to see Hagrid beaming down at him. "You should come down for tea some time, I've got somethin' to show you!" He looked sternly at Harry, narrowing his eyes slightly, and Harry thought he would have looked quite menacing, had Harry not known Hagrid was such a softie. "Not after dark, of course." Hagrid said quietly. "Don't want you running round late, it's dangerous. But come by this weekend, won'tcha?"

They nodded.

Hagrid beamed at them. "Well, I've got a class to teach. You best be heading to wherever you're going!" He gave them a wave and strode off towards his cabin.

Hermione watched his back as he strode down the hill, whistling. "This isn't good." She said. "This is definitely not good."

Whenever Hagrid was quite happy, and whenever he had something to show Harry and the others, it usually meant he had acquired some rare, dangerous, and quite possibly illegal creature. Harry remembered – not too fondly – Norbert, the dragon Hagrid had bought in Harry's first year; Fluffy; Aragog, the giant spider; Buckbeak (how could he forget Buckbeak? The creature was living in his house); and of course, Hagrid's incredibly frightening Blast-Ended Skrewts. Harry knew Hermione and Ron had the same thought as him – they all shuddered slightly at it.

It worried Harry for other reasons, though. There had been times when those creatures of Hagrid's had put Harry in danger of expulsion, and even death. He wanted to believe in Hagrid, with all his heart, but it still made him nervous.

Ron looked at his schedule. "Oh no." He groaned. "Double potions this afternoon, I forgot."

Hermione sighed. "Did you finish that essay he set on the healing properties of the Dragonviper venom? I included the treatment of the venom that's needed before you can use it. You never know with Snape, he could just be expecting it."

Ron blanched. "Oh no, I still have two inches to write! I forgot about it!" And he rushed off to the library to work.

Hermione shook her head with a loud sigh. "He's hopeless. Not a very good role model as a prefect, now is he?"

Harry shrugged. "He's been busy. Quiddich season is starting soon, and we've still only got four good players, maybe six. We have to start proper practices in two weeks, and we still have to hold tryouts!"

Hermione looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "You still got your essay done." She said sharply.

But now that Harry was on the thought of Quiddich, he couldn't help but think about how they were ever going to win the Quiddich Cup without Angelina or the twins. He tried to talk to Hermione about it, but she shrugged and said she was sure they'd do fine.

Ron didn't show up at lunch. Harry assumed he was still working on his forgotten essay, and pocketed a sandwich for him. He and Hermione made their way down to the Potions dungeon after lunch, dreading the class.

Harry knew as soon as he entered the dark, dank dungeon that Snape was still holding a grudge on Harry from the night after Quiddich when Harry had talked back to him. He was being particularly deadly.

"Please at least _attempt_ to complete your potion correctly, Potter." Snape hissed. "You are a disgrace to Hogwarts! Why, you are almost as horrible as Longbottom." Harry heard Malfoy snicker, and then heard a clatter from the back of the room – Neville had knocked over his cauldron. But he hadn't knocked it on himself, and Harry knew that it had not been accidental. It had spilled forward onto Malfoy, who was crying in pain as his skin burst out in boils from the unfinished healing potion they were creating from the Dragonviper venom.

"Oh no," Ron moaned quietly from beside Harry, "two classes worth of work wasted on Malfoy. Poor Neville."

"Longbottom! What is the meaning of this?"

"I'm sorry sir, I think it was a faulty cauldron…"

"No, Longbottom, I believe it is you who is faulty. Five points from Gryffindor. Take Mr. Malfoy to the hospital wing, please, and then return and clean up your mess. If you are very, very lucky, there will be enough left on the floor for me to mark. Though I might add that at this stage it should be yellow, not green, and should leave the user with an odd, stinging sensation – nothing more." He spoke loudly over Malfoy's overdramatic howls. "Now go!" He barked.

Neville nodded and walked down the aisle quickly to the front of the class, catching Harry's eye as he left. Harry grinned at him, and Neville grinned back.

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Oy, sorry it took so long. I've been very, very busy.

Elise: thanks!

Seirien: I wouldn't necessarily say he is depressed. He is upset, certainly, but not really depressed. It's not that extreme, I think. You sort of know he is not depressed by the beginning of this chapter because he just sort of wills it away. That doesn't really work with depression.

FSI: thanks!

Please review people, this is pitiful.


	7. Quiddich Tryouts

Harry went to the library with Hermione and Ron after lessons. Their workload was growing ever larger, and Harry barely had time for anything else. Quiddich tryouts were the coming Saturday, and Gryffindor needed a new player – and hopefully two to replace Kirke and Sloper as well, they were horrible – meaning that Harry had to spend his entire morning on the pitch, plus the first real practice that Professor McGonagall had set for Sunday morning. He had essays set in every class, and he had an Occlumency class with Snape that evening.

The dreams were coming back. He had been sleeping peacefully for two months now, but all of a sudden, it all came back to him. His scar prickled often, and he again felt happiness and anger when Voldemort did. He no longer woke in extreme pain in the nights, finding his friends looking over him, terrified, but he did often dream. No longer about the closed door to the Department of Mysteries, but of other things. He could see Voldemort, he could see him speaking to people, obviously his Death Eaters, but he could not hear what Voldemort was saying. Harry knew better than to wish he could hear what they were saying, but it still intrigued him. Why would he see these things? He was practicing Occlumency now, and he was getting better at it, but these dreams were more powerful. They shot through his brain like electric shocks, pulsating and burning.

This time, Harry was not going to keep it secret. He wouldn't tell Snape; he wouldn't tell Snape anything. He would take it straight to Dumbledore.

He went up to Dumbledore's office on Friday afternoon, after classes were finished. He took out the Marauders Map and checked to make sure Dumbledore was alone in his office; then proceeded down the hallway. "Acid lolly," he said in front of Dumbledore's office, and the gargoyles sprang to life and stepped out of the way.

Harry walked up the winding staircase and knocked on Dumbledore's door.

"Come in, Harry." Dumbledore said, and Harry entered. "Good afternoon, Harry." Dumbledore said, putting down his quill and crossing his hands over his desk. "Please, sit down."

Harry sat down across from him and began to explain his dreams. For once, Harry left naught a detail out of his ramble. He did not want Dumbledore to come to any wrong ends.

Dumbledore sat back when Harry was done. "I see. Well, Harry, unless you have anything else to say or ask, I think we are done here."

Harry sat up, confused. That was it? Dumbledore wasn't going to attempt to explain Harry's dream, to comfort him, or anything? "Er, yes, Professor. Thanks."

Harry walked back to Gryffindor tower deep in thought. So deep in thought, in fact, that he felt himself bump into someone as he walked.

"Sorry about that," he said, rushing to help them pick up their books and pieces of parchment that laid scattered on the floor.

"Two people in the entire hallway, and we had to crash right into each other!" The girl he had hit said.

"Yeah, well, we probably both had a lot on our…" he looked up. "minds. "Hey, Cho."

Cho glanced up at him and looked shocked for a second, then stood up. "Thanks for your help, Harry." She said and rushed down the hall past him.

Harry watched her rush down the hall, a spare sheet of parchment fluttering from her arms. He leaned down and picked it up, scanning it over. It was a Defence Against the Dark Arts essay, with a few mistakes on it, still uncorrected. He decided maybe it would be a good idea to pocket it and give it back to he the next time he saw her. He thought he might be able to help her with it.

At least that meant he knew he would see her sometime soon.

Harry woke early on Saturday morning. He had huge amounts of homework to do, plus the Quiddich tryouts at three o'clock.

When the grandfather clock in Gryffindor tower chimed two o'clock, Harry and Ron went upstairs to get their Quiddich robes, then made their way down to the Quiddich pitch for their meeting before the tryouts started.

Katie was waiting for them there. Kirke and Sloper were both there looking very upset, and Harry knew that Katie had broken the news to them that they could very well be replaced. Ginny joined them moments later, and Katie began.

"Alright," she said, clapping her hands together, "we can have a really good season, I know we can. We didn't have much to work with last year, but hopefully, now that Harry's back, things will look up a bit. Ginny is going to be a Chaser, like we've been practicing, as will I. Ron, you're still Keeper, of course, and I hope you've been doing that practice I assigned you. Kirke, Sloper, you are trying out again, and you better pray that there's no one better than you; though I sincerely home there is _someone_."

Harry chuckled at the thought of Katie being so harsh at the two boys. They picked up their brooms and went out onto the pitch. There was a group of almost fifteen Gryffindors near them, and they could see groups of Slytherins, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws scattered around the stadium. He could make out Cho in the small crowd of the Ravenclaw team, and his heart skipped a beat before he was called back to attention by Ron.

"There's a good turnout this year," Ron said enthusiastically, "when I tried out, there were only about five people. Maybe there are some good people here!" He was excited, but Harry could see the second of fear in his eyes. Ron was always very self conscious of his Quiddich skills, and he was afraid that there would be someone who was a better keeper than him; resulting in him getting cut from the team.

"Don't worry," Harry murmured as Katie began to speak to the scared looking group of Gryffindors, "we aren't trying anyone for Keeper. You will be fine."

Ron smiled weakly. "Thanks." He mouthed to Harry, as Katie was now gesturing towards them, and all eyes were on them.

"Okay," Katie said, after a very long winded speech that reminded Harry far too much of Oliver Wood, "let's get started. Anyone trying for Chaser come with Ginny and me, anyone trying for Beater go with Harry and Ron." She glanced at Harry, then continued. "Okay, people, grab a broom from Ginny!" As the crowd moved towards Ginny, Katie jogged over to Harry and Ron. "You guys will be fine. Toss a few balls at them. We don't want to go straight to bludgers, sometimes they're really awful, and then we'll end up in the hospital wing instead of the pitch. After you've made the first cut, get out the bludgers."

Harry nodded, and Katie jogged back over to Ginny, who was finished with the brooms.

"Okay, people," Harry said to the group in front of him and Ron, "er, I guess we'll start by checking out your flying skills. I want you to fly towards the hoops, from the side, and weave through them. Right of the first one, left of the second, right of the third. The direction you are going in will mean you will be flying straight towards the stands. I just want you to tilt and fly straight up it. This will be graded on points," he added, making it up as he went along, "for speed completed, number of obstacles you hit, which is bad, and how close you come to the obstacles, which is good.

"Oh yes," he added, picking up the baseball lying on the ground in front of him and handing it to Ron, "Ron will be at the top of the stands. He will drop this ball as soon as you clear the hoops, so you have to be fast and hit the ball. That's the hardest part. And of course, the most important. If you can't hit the ball that is going in a straight line and can't turn, than I don't know what you will do in a game."

He mounted his broom and turned to Ron. "Do you want to go up there, or should I?"

Ron shrugged. "I'll do it. You know what to look for better than I do." He said, tucking the ball under his arm and pushing off the ground.

"Once you hit the ball, go get it and fly it back up to Ron!" Harry called out to all of them. The nodded in acknowledgment, and Harry took off.

He took mental notes of the numbers pinned to each players back, and had them go in order of those numbers, as he hadn't thought to bring a piece of parchment with him.

Katie, always on top of things, flew over with a clipboard and a quill. "I had them for you, I just forgot to give them to you. Sorry." She said with a grin.

"Thanks." Harry said, turning back to his group, who were now waiting rather impatiently for him. Harry put the whistle that Katie had attached to the clipboard to his mouth, blowing sharply. As soon as he did, starting his timer at exactly the same time, the first person sped off towards the hoops. She Went a little wide on the first one, but recovered. She had to tuck her feet closer to her body to stop herself from hitting the stands as she flew, but she hit the ball with relative ease, aiming it fairly well towards Ron, who had to duck his head back into the stands anyway to avoid getting hit by her feet.

Harry scribbled down notes as there was a scattered applause from the other students. The first applicant flew the ball back to Ron and settled back on the ground to watch everyone else.

The next person was worse. He missed the third hoop, weaving only once, and he was too far from the stands to hit the bal properly, accidentally sending it towards the wall of the stands themselves, which it bounced off of, falling to the ground.

The third was better. He got all of the hoops very closely, and stuck close to the stands, but he was a little slow; he barely made it there in time to hit the ball. Had it actually been a fast moving Bludger, he would have missed it. Once the eight or so applicants had all flown, Harry and Ron met at the top of the stands to discuss. They decided that their test wasn't enough, and decided to take out a few more baseballs to throw at the students.

"Okay," Harry said, hovering just above the ground, "you are going to do this one by one again. Ron and I will be in the stands, and when we blow the whistle, we will start throwing balls at you. We are going to count how many you hit. We don't care about your aim right now; they will be coming too frequently for that. As long as you hit them without sending them straight up in the air so they hit you again, we don't care where they go."

He flew up to the stands and touched down beside Ron. "Ready?" He called out to the first person, who gave him the thumbs up. "Let's get started," he said to Ron, picking up his whistle and giving it a good, hard, blow.

They had fun hurling the balls as hard as the could. They were lucky enough not to knock anyone unconscious, but there were a few close calls and a couple of bad bruises.

"What do you think?" Harry asked Ron when they were done. He rubbed his right arm gingerly. It ached from all the throwing.

"They were lousy," Ron said, "but not that lousy. Number five was brilliant. I don't think he made a mistake that whole time. What's his name and year?"

Harry glanced at his clipboard. "Number five…" he scanned down it. "Jeffrey Johnson." He looked up. "Hey, you think he's related to Angelina?"

Ron squinted down at the group of nervous looking students. "Yeah, they look pretty darn similar. Good family, that one." He mumbled.

Harry grinned. "So is yours, mate. Anyone else you thought was any good? I think I'm leaning towards five, one, seven, and eight. Narrowing it down to half for the second cut sounds good, don't you think?"

Ron nodded. "Seven was good, eight was better. I don't even remember one any more. Let's just get this over with before it gets dark. Hey, did you notice that Kirke and Sloper weren't on our list?"

Harry grinned and nodded. "I did indeed. But fat chance, Ron. We've still got to practice with the real bludgers."

They argued about who should announce the cuts. Neither of them wanted to be the bad guy, and they were arguing about it so much that they finally resolved to make Katie do it, and they dragged her over.

A few tears were shed, and there was a fair bit of cheering from the better half of the crowd.

Harry smiled. He was glad he hadn't needed to go through the tryouts.

An hour and a half later, they did their best to gather up the balls and put them back in the boxes. Katie announced that the final list would be up the next morning, and that they would be expected at practice the next morning. Yes, she did know that practice was at seven o'clock, and yes, she did know that she couldn't expect them to be ready when the didn't know if they were on the team.

"The point is that you are ready for anything. That's part of it. You will go to bed at a reasonable hour, have you things ready for practice, and if your name isn't on the sheet, then you can go back to bed. I will be posting it on my way out, so you'd better be ready to go when it gets put up."

When Harry made it downstairs the next morning, there was already a crowd up. The four Beaters he and Ron had auditioned, plus the three Chasers that he had had nothing to do with.

He wanted to wait, but Ron complained that he was hungry and wanted his breakfast _now_. Reluctantly, Harry and Ginny followed Ron down to the Great Hall. A few minutes later, Katie strode in, followed by a very happy looking fourth year boy who Harry and Ron now knew as Jeffrey Johnson, and a fourth year and a third year girl, both grinning from ear to ear and looking quite nervous.

Harry beckoned for Johnson to come and sit with them, which he did. "Welcome to Quiddich." He said with a grin. "It's cold and dirty and bloody tiring,"

"but it's a bloody good time." Ginny finished for him.

"Are you by any chance related to Angelina Johnson?" Harry asked.

Jeffrey nodded. "She's my sister. She's four years older than me. We play together in they summer, on our towns intramural team. I've always used my being a Beater as an excuse to aim the bludgers at her."

Ron grinned, and Ginny winced, knowing how Angelina felt, often being the picked on one; though her brothers rarely let her play when she was young.

After a long and gruelling practice, Harry, Ron, Katie, and Ginny traipsed up the hill together.

"Did you see that save I made when Ginny was coming straight at me?" Ron gushed.

"Yeah, it was brilliant," Harry said, grinning, "that barrel roll thing you did, it was great."

Hermione was sitting in the Gryffindor common room when they got back around noon. She had a long piece of parchment dragging on the floor at her feet, which she was scribbling on very quickly.

"What's that you're doing?" Ron asked, eyeing the parchment. "That's not some ridiculously long homework I missed, is it?"

Hermione shook her head, blushing slightly as Harry watched her sign her name and roll up the parchment. "It's a letter to Viktor. I haven't spoken to him since earlier this summer, and I thought I'd say hello."

Ron's mouth fell open. "Hello? That's not hello, that's a novel!"

Hermione blushed more as she tied up the parchment. "May I borrow Hedwig, Harry? I know I can trust her for long journeys."

Harry shook his head. "Sorry, Herm, she's out. I'll join you up to the Owlry, though. I've got too much energy to sit down."

Ron grinned. "Well, excuse me, Mr. flies-around-not-doing-anything-all-practice, but I am going to fall asleep now." He waved to Harry and Hermione and walked up the stairs to the boys dormitory.

"Er, Hermione," Harry asked sheepishly as they walked down the halls, "I was wondering…"

Hermione sighed dramatically. "Ah yes, the inevitable girl question. I knew there was some reason you wanted to come with me. You're usually dead tired after practice. Well, get out with it."

Harry grinned. "You don't mind?"

Hermione smiled. "What are friends for, if not assuring you that Cho still likes you?"

Harry blushed. "How'd you know I was going to ask that?"

Hermione grinned. "It's obvious, Harry. She's the only real crush you've had, and you didn't go out with her long enough or snog her nearly enough to have had enough of her. and yes, I think she does still like you. She just had a hard year last year. There was a lot of pressure on her, and she mistook you for a venting station, as it were. She forgot that while you wanted desperately to help her, you also wanted to have a real relationship with more than just talking about her dead boyfriend."

"So now you understand boys perfectly too? Ron's right, you should write a book."

Hermione shrugged with a smile, and Harry continued. "That wasn't my real question, though. I was wondering if Cho is still, you know, upset."

"With you, or in general?"

"Both."

Hermione sighed. "I'm honestly not sure, Harry. She's had a hard time, and her friends haven't made it much easier. She and Marietta still aren't talking, as far as I know, but she's still got some people. Oh, and I don't think she spends as much time crying in toilet stalls anymore. I haven't seen her in ages. You should ask Myrtle, though. It's rather likely that she goes in there.

"Myrtle can be dreadful sometimes, but sometimes she's not as bad as the real girls." She shrugged again. "Honestly, Harry, I would say it's up to you. I don't think she's still going out with Michael Corner, she might have figured out that he was a bit of a creep. You could ask Ginny, she might know."

Harry grinned. "Thanks, Hermione. Look, do you mind if I head back? You got it right, I am dead tired."

Hermione smiled. "Bye, Harry." She said with a laugh, as he let out a sigh of relief and hugged her before walking back to the common room.

Cho probably still liked him. That was definitely a good sign. Maybe he'd ask her to the next Hogsmeade weekend: he wasn't really planning on going to any of them, he was supposed to work, but he was sure he could sneak off for one day to go on a date. It probably wasn't such a good idea, because he would be out and about when he didn't need to be, but this was important. After the first one, maybe he could convince Cho that it would be a better idea to stay at Hogwarts.

But he didn't get ahead of himself. He had to ask Cho out first.

He wandered back to the tower and glanced at the notice board to make sure he had gotten the names of the new players correct. There was something else on the board as well.

HOGSMEADE WEEKEND

October 29th

Harry groaned. This meant he was going to have to ask Cho out a lot sooner than he had hoped. In two weeks, in fact.

Hmm… still no reviews… this is ominous… I am frightened… wah.

"We used to laugh at Grandpa when he'd head off and go fishing. But we wouldn't be laughing that evening when he'd come back with some whore he picked up in town."

Sorry I forgot the quote last chapter, here is another one.

"If you saw two guys named Hambone and Flippy, which one would you think liked dolphins the most? I'd say Flippy, wouldn't you? You'd be wrong, though. It's Hambone."

I may have already done that one, but it is still the funniest thing evar. EVAR.

-unolimbo


	8. Lucky

"Did you see the notice on the board?" Hermione asked when she came back to the common room to find Harry and Ron sitting with their homework spread out in front of them. "Hogsmeade next weekend."

Harry nodded. "Yep, less than two weeks away."

Hermione frowned. "Do you really think you should go, Harry?" She asked. "I mean, would that be the safest course of action?"

Harry shrugged. "I can't just sit in here all the time, Hermione, it would drive me insane."

She grinned. "Besides, you want to ask Cho to go with you."

Ron frowned. "Again? I thought you two broke up last year."

Harry shrugged. "We didn't really break up, per se. I mean, we only went on one date, and it got cut off halfway through. Of course, it didn't go too well…" He grimaced, remembering everything he had done wrong on that fateful Hogsmeade trip on valentines day the year before.

"Don't worry, Harry," Hermione said with a shrug, "it will all work out in the end."

"What about you two?"

"Are we going to go down and see Hagrid this afternoon?" Hermione asked quickly, changing the subject. "We should go before it gets dark."

Ron groaned. "Do we have to? It's going to be some horrible monster or something, and I really don't want to think about it."

Hermione frowned. "Ron, Hagrid is our friend. We should give him the benefit of a doubt!"

"What doubt?" Ron mumbled, and Harry laughed. Hermione frowned at both of them.

"We'll go when we finish our Charms homework." She said with such assurance that Harry and Ron knew better than to argue.

An hour later, they traipsed down the hill to Hagrid's cabin and knocked on the door. It was still daylight, but the sky was rapidly clouding over. Harry wanted to say hello to Hagrid, hopefully avoid whatever it was he wanted to show them, and get back to the castle before the downpour.

"Ah, you lot! Good to see yeh! Come in, come in!" He said, ushering them into his home. "I was hopin' you'd come a bit earlier. Oh well, this just means we'll have to skip the tea!" He said cheerily.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at each other warily. "Well, come on then!" Hagrid said, leading them out his backdoor. He led them deep into the forest. The sky was growing continually darker, and Harry was worrying more and more about his safety.

Finally, they came to a clearing. Ron's jaw dropped, and Hermione put a hand to her mouth.

Harry still staring, leaned closer to Hermione. "Pray tell, Hermione, how did we all forgot about the very large giant living in the forest?"

Hermione shook her head, looking terrified. "I think we were trying to block it from our memory." She whimpered.

Standing in front of them was Grawp, now about three feet taller than his previous twelve foot self, and humming.

"Isn't he gorgeous?" Hagrid asked earnestly. "He's almost got English down. Here, ask him something."

None of them said anything. "Fine, fine," Hagrid said with a sigh, "I'll do it. Grawp!" He called. The giant slowly turned to face them and leaned down.

"Haggar!" He said.

Hagrid smiled. "'Lo, Grawp. How are yeh?"

Grawp grinned widely. "Grawp good." He said, "Grawp want friend! Haggar bring friend?" He looked over at the three of them. They all took a step back. "Hermy!" He said loudly.

Hermione let out a little cry and grabbed onto Harry's arm. "Hagrid," Harry said weakly, "I think we should go."

"Go? Yeh just got here!"

"Yes, but, it's… getting dark. I'm not supposed to be out, and I probably shouldn't be in the forest."

Hagrid looked frightened for a moment. "Goodness, yer right! What was I thinking? Well, lets get you lot back up to the castle! "Bye, Grawp!" He said, turning and waving at Grawp, who looked confused.

Hermione let out a sharp breath as they turned around, but didn't let go of Harry until they could no longer hear Grawp humming. "Hagrid, this is not good." She said.

He looked at her. "Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, it's incredibly dangerous, and you could get in a lot of trouble. I don't think Grawp really has much hope of fitting in."

Hagrid frowned. "Now Hermione, I would think you at least would be accepting!"

"It's not a person, Hagrid!" Hermione cried. "It doesn't need your sympathy! Someone is going to get hurt!"

"Nonsense." Hagrid muttered, speeding up. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had to run so quickly to keep up with him that they couldn't talk.

Harry collapsed in a chair when they got back to the common room. "Are we done our homework?" Ron asked hopefully.

Hermione pulled out her day planner and shook her head. "Herbology. And a Potions essay for Tuesday."

Ron groaned. "Alright, alright, lets get it over with."

Harry couldn't concentrate. Too many things were going on in his mind. Too many things that shouldn't have been important at all. After fifteen minutes and about three lines, Harry gave up. "I'm going for a walk." He said, standing up and walking out of the room.

He brought his books up to the dormitory, and while he was there, he picked up the Marauders Map.

Hiding it in his cloak until he was passed Ron and Hermione, Harry pulled out the map when he made it into the hall. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." He said, tapping it with his wand. He scanned the map, hoping that the person he was looking for wasn't in her dormitory. Sure enough, he finally spotted the name he was looking for. Cho was in the library.

Harry walked to the library, his hands growing increasingly sweaty. What if she wasn't sure? What if she did indeed have a boyfriend? What if she just wasn't interested?

He took a deep breath and walked in, scanning around for her. He didn't see her at first, so he wandered around the stacks, pretending to look for something to read.

He heard her voice. "Finally," he muttered to himself, but then he realized something: if he could hear Cho talking, that meant there was someone else with her.

"No, I don't think so. Professor McGonagall said we should improve by next lesson, I don't think she expects us to have it down perfectly."

Harry let out a breath. Just a friend asking about homework. He quickly turned towards the bookshelf away from the person that streamed by him, then peeked around the bookshelf at where he could see Cho studying.

"Cho," he said, coming around the bookshelf.

She looked up. "Harry!" She said. "Hi!"

Harry smiled awkwardly. "Er, you dropped this when we ran into each other on Friday."

Cho looked incredibly relieved. "Thank you so much! I thought I'd lost it, and I don't have time to write it again!"

"Well, I looked at it to make sure it was yours, and it looked like-" Harry paused to choose his words carefully, not wanting to offend Cho. "it looked like maybe you didn't really get it. Um, if you'd like some help or editing or anything, you can ask me."

He turned to walk away.

"Wait," Cho said. "I, well, this is due tomorrow, and you're right about it going straight over my head. Do you think, maybe…"

Harry grinned. "Sure." He sat down beside her. "How much time do you have?"

She smiled. "All the time you need."

-----

Harry went to bed happier that than he had in a long time. Unfortunately, he did not wake up the same way.

He did not awake screaming, but he was drenched in cold sweat and gripping the sides of his bed tightly. His teeth were clenched so his jaw was sore, his body rigid.

He sat up quickly, breathing heavily. Slowly, his muscles came out of their atrophy and relaxed, leaving Harry feeling quite wobbly.

He held his head in his hands, pushing his hair off of his face. His scar was beyond prickling. It was practically exploding. And Harry had no idea why. He had not seen Voldemort in his dreams, he had not heard his icy voice.

So why did he react like this?

He slipped out of bed silently and went to wash the sweat off his face. He found himself shivering.

Turning off the faucet, he heard a tapping. He looked up at the window and saw Hedwig trying to push the window open wide enough for her to slip in.

Harry walked over to her. "You have an answer?" He asked, stroking her beak before taking off her letter and reading it as fast as he could.

_Dear Harry:_

_There isn't too much happening here. Well, that's not exactly true. There is plenty happening here, just nothing that I can tell you through an owl. As much as I trust Hedwig, she has been intercepted before. _

_We haven't been doing too badly here, we've gathered a few more people. Headquarters is always full. I've taken up permanent residence here, as someone needs to be here all the time to moderate everything that happens here, and I don't really have much else to do, what with my situation. _

_Mad Eye and Tonks have been working wonders at the Ministry. They've been having a difficult time, because now that the Minister knows their position, he is restricting where they can go, what they can do. Even with all that's going on, he's still convinced that Dumbledore is trying to take over the Ministry. _

_Either way, they are still gathering good information. There are many in the Ministry who agree with us, and while some of them don't want to go as far as being in the Order, many of them want to help. _

_No new information on Voldemort, I'm afraid. His Death Eaters are still in Azkaban, for the time being, but who knows how long that will last. The Dementors are still with the Ministry, or at least it seems like they are. The Minister still doesn't believe that they could possibly leave our side, but we are ready. I hope._

_I can't say more. Like I said, we still don't know where Voldemort is or what he is up to, we just know he is up to something._

_-Moony_

Harry sighed as he folded up the letter and placed it with a few others at the bottom of his trunk. Knowing he was never going to get back to sleep, he got dressed and went down to breakfast.

Harry passed the Ravenclaw team, on their way to a morning practice. Cho smiled at Harry as she passed him. _Good,_ Harry thought, _at least we're past avoiding each other's gaze_.

He grabbed a few slices of toast before making his way back up to Gryffindor tower to do some more homework. It was a good thing he woke so early. He wouldn't be able to do much homework that night, he would be spending his entire evening, after dinner, at least, in Snape's dungeon, practicing Occlumency.

Ron wandered downstairs about an hour and a half later. "Harry, what are you doing up already?" He asked, still in his pyjamas.

"My scar was hurting, and I couldn't get back to sleep. So I thought I'd do some homework."

Ron nodded. "Bad dream?"

Harry frowned. "See, that's the problem. I didn't have any dreams at all. I just woke up in pain. My whole body seized up from it, but I don't know where it came from."

They both sat in silence for a moment. "Are you still feeling Voldemorts mood?" Ron asked after a while.

Harry shrugged. "Sometimes," he said, "but this wasn't the same thing. I didn't feel angry or sad or happy, just pain."

Ron nodded. "I don't know, Harry. Are you going to tell Dumbledore?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. It seems kind of silly, going to him every time my scar hurts. Is he even getting new information out of it?"

"So write it down." Ron said. "Get a book or something, and write them all down and give them to Dumbledore every week or something."

Harry's face brightened. "Ron, that's brilliant! I could write down every time my scar hurts, every time I feel Voldemort, every time I have a dream… you're brilliant!"

Ron grinned sheepishly. "Well, I wouldn't call it that…"

Harry punched him as he stood up. "Shut up, Ron."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well, no cliffhanger this time around, I am afraid. Yarr, fanfiction is not working, there won't be any responses to reviews today. Of course, that means I can't update today, so it all depends on how lazy I am at a later date. We shall see, we shall see.

Here they are!

M&M: I hope it will get more interesting soon… I've got some stuff coming up soon.

"So long, and thanks for all the fish."

Ten points to those who recognize what that's from!

-unolimbo


	9. Burning Power

Harry's scar hurt again that night. Again, he did not dream. He only felt it. He didn't quite know why, but it felt like someone had placed a red hot brand on his forehead. When he went to wash his face, his forehead was warm to the touch. His scar was warm.

"I should open a window." He muttered to himself before wandering downstairs to do homework for the second morning in a row.

His schedule did not change once that week. From Monday on, he would wake early from his scar, do his homework, go to classes, meet Cho in the library so they could help each other with homework, then after dinner, he would go to his private lessons.

Every day, his scar got worse. When he woke up on Friday morning, his scar hurt more than ever before. He bit down on his pillow to stop the pain, but it did nothing. He smelled burning. He stumbled to the washbasin to wash his face, his eyes tearing up from the pain. When he touched his hand to his forehead, though, he pulled away quickly. Yesterday, his scar had been hot, today, it was burning to the touch. He splashed cold water on his face and heard a sizzle. He looked up at the mirror and saw something unnerving: the water, which he had just splashed on his face, was gone, replaced by steam rising off of his now bright red scar.

Harry was not waiting to tell Dumbledore about this. He didn't care that it was four thirty in the morning, he needed to talk to the headmaster. He didn't bother to change out of his pyjamas, he just slipped on his shoes and his glasses and ran out of the common room.

"Acid lolly." He panted when he reached the gargoyles in front of Dumbledore's office. They sprang up and stepped out of his way, revealing the tall winding staircase. Harry leapt up the stairs three at a time, and knocked as hard as he could on the door.

No answer. He knocked again, loudly. Finally, he heard footsteps on the other side of the door, and Dumbledore appeared, wearing a nightcap and pyjamas, holding his wand in one hand.

"Harry," he said sternly, "come in."

Harry stepped into the room. With a flick of Dumbledore's wand, the lamps in the room flickered and lit. "What is it?" Dumbledore asked, gesturing for Harry to sit down.

"It's my scar, Professor." Harry said. He wanted to push his hand into his forehead to stop the pain, but he knew that he would only burn himself. "I woke up with it hurting every day this week. On Monday, it was warm. It's gotten warmer every day. Today, it is burning. I tried to wash my face, but the water turned to steam. I burned my hand on it when I touched it."

Dumbledore nodded. "Did you dream?"

Harry shook his head. "That's the thing. Not a dream, not a feeling of Voldemort at all. It just hurts."

Harry put his head down and winced as a new surge of pain rushed through his brain. Dumbledore rose. "Harry, I am going to send you to Madame Pomfrey. Tell her to give you a large quantity of ice. You will need to change it often, but it should help you. I have some people I need to speak to. You will stay in the hospital wing all day, please. I will have Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger notified. Continue to ice it until the pain recedes. Madame Pomfrey will know what to do after that."

Harry nodded and stumbled out of the room. "Thank you, Professor." He said. He quickly made his way down to the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey was waiting for him with ice.

"One of the paintings told me, Potter. Come on now, hold this up."

As soon as Harry placed the ice on his forehead, he felt steam rising from his forehead. The ice cracked from the heat, and Harry found himself just holding a damp rag instead of ice.

Madame Pomfrey frowned and passed Harry a large bucket of ice. "Keel doing it." She said. "I am going to try and bewitch some ice so it doesn't melt."

Harry nodded as he placed the next piece of ice to his forehead.

Fifteen minutes and a lot of ice later, Harry's scar was cooling down. Instead of steaming instantly, Harry felt warm water pouring down his face into his eyes and mouth. He didn't dare touch his scar, knowing it would still be burning hot.

By the time the sun rose, the ice was lasting almost five minutes before it melted away completely. By the time he heard people walking around outside for breakfast, water was dripping slowly down from his forehead. There was no more steam.

By the time Harry would normally have been in his first class, Potions, his scar was warm to the touch, the rest of his forehead was numb from the cold, and he was completely soaked to the bone. The water dripping down his face was cool now, making him shiver.

"I'm sorry, Potter, I can't find the charm to stop the ice from melting. I don't know if it would have worked, anyway. Come now, let's see." Harry took the ice off of his forehead and Madam Pomfrey looked at him, touching his forehead and his face.

"Very well," she said, "you can go to sleep now." She led him over to a bed and gave him some dry clothes before closing the curtain so he could have some privacy. "Dumbledore should be along sometime before lunch," she said, "he will tell you what will happen. I want to see you asleep, Potter. Do you need a potion?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm fine." He said. He was shivering from how wet he had been, though his forehead was still warm to the touch. He took off his glasses and placed them on the table beside him before quickly falling asleep.

When Harry woke up, the sun was streaming into the room directly onto his face. He touched his scar gingerly. It was the same temperature as the rest of his forehead.

"Harry! You're awake!" Harry reached over to the table and put on his glasses. There, in front of him, were Ron and Hermione. "Are you alright?" Hermione asked.

Harry sat up and nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine." He said. "What time is it?"

"Barely noon." Ron said. "We grabbed a bit of food and came up here. We brought you some."

"Thanks," Harry said as Ron handed him a sandwich. He hadn't eaten since the night before, and he was hungry.

"What happened?" Hermione asked. "We were just told you were in the hospital wing with a headache."

With that, Harry explained all that had happened to him that morning, finishing with how he had been told that Dumbledore would be back by lunch.

"He wasn't at lunch," Ron said. "I guess he's not done yet."

Harry nodded, deep in thought. Why had this happened to him? What was his scar reacting to? Or was Voldemort controlling it, trying to cause him pain?

As if on cue, the door swung open and Dumbledore walked in. "Harry." He said seriously. "How long did it take for your scar to cool down?"

"Er, I think we stopped icing it at about nine thirty. So I guess it was about four and a half hours."

Ron let out a low whistle, and Hermione elbowed him to be quiet. Dumbledore nodded. "I have spoken to some of my sources, and they have verified what I feared. Voldemort has gained more power. More control. This is not a matter of feeling his moods, this is feeling his power. Every time he gains power, your scar heats up. I have reason to believe that the warmth you have been feeling every morning is Voldemort learning new things, gathering new supporters. The one today; it was the worst. I doubt if it will ever happen as badly again. We shall see. But Voldemort has just gained something, something powerful. I know not what. We shall see."

He rose. "This has weakened you. You may leave when Madame Pomfrey sees fit."

He turned and walked out the door.

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Sorry it's so short. I just really enjoyed writing this chapter. It was a lot of fun, and I didn't want to drag out the end and make it suck more.

Oh, look at that… no new reviews… shame. Come on, people, I've got eleven reviews. Why will no one review? There's something about Harry Potter fanfictions… do they really suck that much? No one reviews them!

"If you're a young Mafia gangster out on your first date, I bet it's real embarrassing if someone tries to kill you."

-unolimbo


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